


Reloaded

by HolaImOla



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Aziraphale's flaming sword is now a dagger, Banter, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), LLF Comment Project, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Swearing, it's later in the story tho, mentions of past injuries, not too much tho, or so I try
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolaImOla/pseuds/HolaImOla
Summary: Agent Fell and Agent Crowley are best friends. Sort of.They are as close as you can get if you're a spy- they see each other pretty much every day, yet they don't- can't- know anything about each other. They don't know where the other lives, where is he from, hell, they don't even know each other's names.But apparently they don't need to know all of that to keep drawing closer to each other as the years go by.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ((i might change the title later if possible ;-;))  
> This turned out to be much longer than I anticipated! So this is a prolouge part to a story, and I'll hopefully upload the first chapter soon. In the meantime, you can check out my other Good Omens fics here <3  
> This is sort of based on Spies Are Forever (it's a musical!), but mostly there are just some scenes and similarities, the story will be different.  
> Also, it mostly takes part in the 60s, but I am not a historian, so sorry if something is inaccurate ^^' Feel free to point it out, I'm open to read and learn new stuff!  
> Stay safe y'all!

_?????, 1964_

They pulled a sack from his head roughly, scratching his face as they did so. The sudden light blinded him after spending so much time in the dark.

He wiggled in the small, uncomfortable chair, but it brought no result- the scruffy rope he was tied with held his hands behind his back and his ankles right by the legs of the chair. He blinked a few times, slowly getting his eyes used to the bright surroundings, and spit some blood on the concrete next to him.

They haven't changed his coat, or at least it looked like that. They have, however searched through it- he was devastated to find out that a dagger he kept taped to the inside of his sleeve was gone, because of course it would be.

A quiet swear escaped his lips. How in the hell did he end up in such a situation? Again?

 _It's because you're shit of a spy_ , _Fell_ , a quiet voice whispered in the back of his head. He told it to kindly shut up, thank you very much.

"Well, well, well," he heard a voice with a thick, Russian accent from behind his back. "Agent Angel Fell in the flesh. It's an honour to finally meet you, after hearing so many stories of your deeds. Though I have to admit, I am, how you say it, _disappointed_ in your presentation." He waved his hand carelessly, gesturing at his body.

"What do you want?" he mumbled, the metallic taste of blood not leaving his mouth.

Someone laughed, the voice coming from the opposite side of the room to where the previous speaker was standing.

So there were two of them. Great.

"I heard that you knew of some plans of ours. Some top secret ones, on top of that. Only we don't know which..." The second voice, even though also coated in a strong accent, sounded strangely familiar. "We are also aware of some plans of yours. A dinner with your closest friend at nine precisely... What a shame you won't be able to make it."

Aziraphale couldn't help the slight, almost unnoticeable smirk coming onto his lips. "How would even the best of Russian secret agents know such details about my sad, little life so well?"

The man behind him chuckled. When he spoke again, his accent changed ever so slightly- the r sounded softer, as well as his vowels. He also got rid of the impression that he could not pronounce the, so foreign to a Russian, "th" sound. Aziraphale was now sure the voice could belong to only one man.

"I think, angel," the speaker said. "That having personal history really helps."

He heard a loud bang of a gun being fired and the thud of a body falling to the ground.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale beamed, forcing his chair to turn around with him. There he was indeed, standing dressed in all black, with those silly sunglasses covering his eyes.

"Hello, angel." Crowley pulled out Aziraphale's dearest dagger from his very own pocket and cut through the ropes. Aziraphale slowly pulled himself up from the chair and gently rubbed his sore wrists. He glanced at the spy laying dead on the floor before looking up at Crowley again.

"I do suppose I owe you one, don't I?" He raised his eyebrows.

Crowley snorted. "It's more like you owe me at least six as of now."

"Oh, don't act like you don't love it." Aziraphale said. He reached his hand for his dagger and traced the flame-shaped engravings on the blade. "How did you get it? I barely remember, but I feel like I-"

"Gave it away?" Crowley cut in. "Yeah, let's just say that after one Russian guy drugged you, you willingly handed it to a pretty, redhead jazz singer." He chuckled. "She had you wrapped around her finger before you dropped dead on the casino floor."

"I- But- Wait." Aziraphale's eyes widened. "It was you!"

Crowley grinned. "Maybe?"

A siren roared above their heads. Crowley smacked his lips. "Looks like someone has been caught. C'mon." He grabbed Aziraphale's hand and pulled him out through a back door.

The only trace left behind them was the dead man of the floor.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short note: I touch the subject of eidetic/photographic memory and I did like an hour of research all together- so there might be something incorrect. I'm not a professional in this field and I am pretty sure eidetic memory was described much later than when the story takes place and I do just dramatize it a bit. Take all the info about it with a grain of salt :D

They ran through the dark corridors, sirens blasting and red lights shining rhythmically.

"Did you get the nuclear weapon blueprints?" Crowley asked without even turning around to face him.

Aziraphale breathed, struggling to keep his pace. "They're all scanned." He touched his ear, only to find the earring he had always had there untouched. "And I memorized them."

He couldn't see it, but he was sure that Crowley rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."

They arrived at a junction of three corridors, Crowley's head going back and forth as he checked the surroundings.

"So, I suppose, you, as usual, were sent on the same mission?" Aziraphale asked him. He kept his voice low, despite the sirens, just in case.

Crowley shrugged. "You're the one who said that, angel." He looked up and Aziraphale's gaze followed his.

There was a ventilation duct in the ceiling, big enough for Crowley to fit in, but definitely too small for Aziraphale. Since Crowley didn't say anything, he decided he'd be quiet about it, too. There was no reason to start this conversation, _again_.

The watch on Crowley's wrist buzzed and a red dot appeared.

"Hi Belz."

"Crowley, where the hell are you?! The blueprints were supposed to be on my desk five hours ago!" the voice screamed.

Crowley didn't get to respond, as a door in the corridor in front of them burst open; three armed men screamed something in Russian and aimed their pistols at them.

"Fuck," Crowley breathed and glued himself to the wall.

"Consider it done, zir," Aziraphale said to the red dot on Crowley's watch. "The blueprints are all fine and dandy, in tip-top condition. We've run into some... technical difficulties," he mumbled as Crowley took the gun out of his jacket and fired it.

"Is that you, Aziraphale? Thank God, someone's competent is there now."

"Hey!" Crowley protested, shooting the third guard, but the call has ended.

"I am competent," he said to Aziraphale as he grabbed his hand.

"Of course you are, dear boy." Aziraphale carefully avoided the bodies as they left the facility.

_London, 1959 (five years earlier)_

He sat behind a desk, looking at the person in front of him. The light from the cheap lamp flickered above their heads.

"Tell me, Crowley," Mr. Belz rubbed their forehead. With her androgynous style that consisted of weird clothing choices they seemed like they belonged on some futuristic music scene, rather than in a tiny, moldy office of a secret agency. "Have you ever killed someone?"

Crowley blinked and stared at them dumbly.

"Erm... Sure, I guess."

This wasn't really a type of answer you'd give to a question like this, but Crowley knew he had all of his records written down. Or, this was the official explanation. The unofficial, shameful, explanation was that out of all agent training he'd done, killing people was _definitely not_ his forte. The three times when he was in the midst of action, and the building, ship, or whatever was the third thing, exploded, he might have slipped and called it his own work.

But he couldn't say this, of course. He would have gotten kicked out sooner than he'd be able to say his own name, and there wasn't really much a secret agent could do without a secret agency.

Mr. Belz looked at him with their head gently tilted, but, luckily, didn't actually comment. Instead, they pulled out a file.

"I'll need you to find out as much as you can about this individual. Keep him out of our business..." They went quiet for a moment. "Kill him if you have to."

They handed the file towards him and Crowley took it in his hand. He looked through the document and a photo fell out.

"That's him?" Crowley couldn't help the sarcastic tone slipping through.

The man looked as harmless as an average person would.

Hell, he probably looked more harmless than an average person.

The photo didn't look like anything for official documents, more like a hidden camera thing. The guy was in a cafe or a restaurant, sitting in front of a bunch of books and notebooks, writing something down, focused on whatever it was. He had messy blonde hair, round silhouette, bright eyes and was, in the most neutral sense of the word, well, _cute_. Definitely not someone Crowley would want to stalk and assassinate when he didn't expect it.

He only took a quick look at the file, noticing it was mostly empty, except for big, bold red letters at the bottom of the page.

It has far too many E's and I's for his poor dyslectic eyes, and Crowley couldn't make the word out despite his best effort.

He looked up at Mr. Belz, his eyebrows arching in a questioning way.

"Eidetic memory," they sighed.

Now, that didn't give him any more clues than the scribble on the document did. Mr. Belz must have noticed his blank stare, because went on to explain.

"He can perfectly recall everything he's seen. His case is even more rare than any other documented, as he's able to preserve the information he received for long periods of time, and draw it all out, apparently perfectly."

"Woah."

"Yes, _woah_. He might be the only actual case of photographic memory in the world."

Crowley looked at the photo again. The man didn't seem any more dangerous, but just thinking that he could potentially find out about... anything really, made the hairs on the back of Crowley's neck stand.

"What's his name?" he asked.

"If only we knew." Mr. Belz shrugged. "Agent Angel, definitely not his real name; he also works for the Secret Intelligence Service"

Crowley barely held an eye roll. Of course, he was the exemplary citizen working for the government, with those golden locks and a silly bowtie.

"Also, we found out from our spotter in the SIS that he'll have a secret meeting in-" they took out some paper. "-this pub."

Crowley deciphered the address and looked up at them. Then they gave him an obvious _and-you'll-be-there-too_ look and he couldn't do much but sigh and nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He waited in his trusty Bentley parked on the other side of the pub's street, feeling like he might be starting to doze off (oh, how he _hated_ staying up this late) when he saw him. Agent Angel.

He walked inside the pub seemingly carefully, without any trace of anxiety, but Crowley knew it was him. The neon lights of the logo illuminated his blonde hair, making him look as if he had a halo.

Crowley snorted quietly. Agent Angel with a halo around his head. He'll see about that.

He gave himself about fifteen minutes before exiting his car and following Angel inside the building. This wasn't a place Crowley was familiar with at all, but he knew his ways of making himself look like this wasn't a new territory for him. He sauntered lazily towards the bar, keeping a blank face, one eyebrow arched- yet his eyes were meticulously scanning the filled with smoke room behind his sunglasses.

The lights were dim and the smoke was getting thicker the further in he got, to the point where he could really only make out silhouettes of people. Muted music was filling the background noise, but Crowley still managed to keep his senses sharp.

He ordered a glass of whiskey and searched for Angel. The smoke made it an almost impossible task.

Crowley started to get frustrated, but _finally_ he caught a person sitting by a corner booth, dressed in all-light colours (yes, it was the colours that made him stand out just enough). Yep, that was definitely him. Crowley could still make out the boxy shape of the coat Angel walked in.

There was another person sitting beside him, but there was no way Crowley could make out anything of their looks. The person pulled out some rectangle- a book? piece of paper?- and held it in front of Angel. He looked at it for a moment ( _remembering it_ , Crowley realized) before nodding.

The stranger quickly hid the object and left so fast Crowley didn't get any change to take a look at them. Agent Angel, however, stood up and went to the bathroom.

Ha. That was Crowley's chance.

He downed the drink and rushed towards the bathroom, making sure his gun was in place (just in case). He pushed the bathroom door and-

Was greeted by another gun held in front of his face.

Crowley took a step back and froze in shock, the little bit of alcohol slowing down his reaction. Agent Angel's hand didn't even twitch. He glared at Crowley, his blue eyes seeming to glow in the dim light.

"And to think I get criticized for lack of subtlety," he whispered in a steady, low voice and Crowley's knees felt weak for a different reason than a loaded gun in his face. "You should really choose another car for at least some of your missions, _agent Crowley._ "

"Y-You saw me?" Crowley managed to croak.

Angel chuckled; the corners of his mouth twitched up a little, causing dimples in his cheeks to show.

"I caught a glimpse or two while walking in."

Shit! Crowley didn't even realize.

He looked at the gun again.

"So, you're gonna shoot me or..?"

The cool facade Angel had was immediately gone. His eyes widened and his smirk turned into a wider, nervous smile.

"Oh! No, this was just to startle the nasty stalker following me."

"Well, it definitely worked."

To his surprise, Angel genuinely smiled. He unloaded his gun and Crowley watched as he hid it inside his coat; his eyes involuntarily traced the golden buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, and he was once again grateful for his dark sunglasses.

"Well then," Angel put his arm around Crowley and pat his back, as if they were good friends. "Let's get us something to drink, my treat. I'd love to talk with you."

"Only if you promise to forget at least some of it."

Angel laughed, but Crowley caught him looking with longing in the distance as they walked out. "I don't think I can do that, even if I tried."

_Russian Nuclear Weapon Facility, 1964 (present)_

Aziraphale kept looking back at the building, feeling horribly seen in the naked field. They silently agreed to get to the closest forest and then think what to do later. It was funny how after some years they managed to understand each other without the need for many words, especially in situations like this.

"You got a ride back home?" Crowley asked without turning around.

"Y-Yes, of course. I can access a plane anytime." (Crowley snorted something about his privileges). "Besides, you do know it's better for us to _not_ travel anywhere together."

"I drive you everywhere with my Bentley at home, though."

"Oh, you know it's different," Aziraphale huffed.

"Angel, I'm only saying that if we were in the same plane, or train, or whatever, _once_ , it wouldn't be the end of the world."

Right as he said that, the ground in front of them exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author appreciates all the comments and tries to reply to most!


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